I've become a huge fan of A Prairie Home Companion podcasts. I like to listen to them as I take my daily walks or do my Home Blessing. I enjoy how they take my mind off the task at hand, transport me to Lake Woebegone out on the edge of the prairie in Lutheran Minnesota.
The podcast for April 28th of this year had the preceding quote.
Love it.
Love. It.
It's just so true! Even in describing some of the events in my life with my friend Tony, as I did in yesterday's blog post, I don't quite capture the joy we found in some of those events. I purposely left out some important-to-us details ... like how my college roommate went to get the mail one day and found a letter addressed to "Margaret 'Motel 6' Codispoti" with Tony's return address. How I got that nickname is an inside joke.
Yet if Tony was to read this post, he'd likely guffaw out loud in the joy of the memory. My roommate, of course, was both curious and appalled. I didn't reveal the story behind the inside joke. After all, our lives are our own. Memories like that allow us to carry a secret smile on our face for hours.
As rocky as this previous year has been for me, there are several memories I carry from that time that produce that same secretive smile. Joy that has no basis in fact at all. Or maybe joy that has only a seed planted in fact. The smile is elicited anyway.
It's just something that comes over us.
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